To Be Lonely
by secret.clj
Summary: 16 year old Bruce Banner is relatively new to Fury's Academy of Excellence. He already has a hard core crush on his room mate, Clint Barton, but hides it, as his secret powers stop him from allowing anyone to get close. But when he becomes very sick, people will force their way into his world in order to help him. BruceBanner/ClintBarton Steve/Tony implied, Sickfic, Hurt/comfort


SHAMELESS FLUFF, HARDCORE SICK/FIC/HURT/COMFORT, with some sort of "I hope senpai notices me!" thrown in. A bit of back ground.  
In this AU, the teenaged heroes of the Avengers (+Matt and Peter because I love them) study and work at the Academy of Excellence, set up not unlike Xavier's School for Gifted Children. The school is a mix of high tech stuff and old world charm. Bruce still has almost no control over the Hulk, and would rather be alone than risk hurting anyone. However, his new friends cannot help but notice something is not right with Bruce and disaster strikes. There will be much more to come of this AU so I hope you like this!

Bruce woke up feeling uneasy. Maybe it was because he hadn't slept well, or maybe it was because the room was cold. Clint had left the window open again. Bruce sat up, groggy, and looked over at his sleeping roommate. Clint was spread out above his covers, snoring contentedly, while a gentle snowfall drifted down from the grey sky and onto the window sill above his bed. Bruce groaned and rolled out of bed, clamboured over Clint, and slammed the window shut. Clint opened an eye and grinned.  
"I told you to close the window before you fall asleep," snapped Bruce. Clint rolled over onto his back, his shirtless body stretched, showing off every fine muscle. Bruce blushed and looked out of the window whilst Clint yawned leisurely.  
The snow was unbelievably beautiful. It was an endless world of white on white, with the dark trunks of naked trees standing starkly against the paleness of the world. Bruce smiled. He loved this time of year, but he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because the lonliness of the world matched his own. Sure, he had his colleagues, his school mates, but none of them could ever be let in. None of them could ever know, and so Bruce kept his distance. It was lonely and grey, but safe.  
Clint was sitting by this point, and prodded Bruce in the ribs. Bruce was jerked from his thoughts and coughed to clear a tickle from his throat.  
"I don't want to freeze to death in my sleep, thank you very much," he said, jumping off Clint's bed and grabbing his uniform from where it lay neatly folded on the dresser. Clint laughed and grabbed the messy pile of clothes from the floor that was his uniform and wandered into the bathroom.  
"Sorry, I was too hot last night," he said as he began to brush his teeth. Bruce grumbled. He went to the mirror to straighten his hair, but it was no use. Bruce looked at himself. His messy brown hair stuck up in the most random places, his dark green eyes were gentle and soft. He was small in comparison to his roommate. Hell, he was small in comparison to almost everyone at the Acadamy of Excellence. Of course, all the students at the Acadamy of Excellence were gifted with exceptional abilities that Headmaster Fury was grooming, so they were already tall and muscular. But not Bruce. When Bruce was...well...Bruce, he was short and thin, but with a rounded face that looked somewhat sad all the time. It made him quite handsome in an unusual way, but he was always too busy worrying about other things to notice his appearance. He pushed his dark rimmed glasses up his nose, and sighed. Better to look normal than green and 10 feet tall, he supposed.  
By this time, Clint was done in the bathroom. He dressed while Bruce brushed his own teeth. Bruce spat into the sink, coughing again. The toothpaste had irked whatever was tickling his throat, but soon the sensation died down. Bruce gathered his books as Clint fixed his own dirty blonde hair in the mirror. He caught Bruce looking in the reflection and smiled.  
"Can I help you, Banner?" he said coyly, his shirt still unbuttoned. Bruce blushed harder and walked to the door.  
"Hurry, or you'll be late," was all he said, as he walked out.

Bruce arrived at the mess hall for breakfast alone. There were a few empty seats left as the rest of the students sat together in big clumps at tables, talking and laughing. It was a sea of red and black blazers.  
Bruce walked up to the food line, keeping plenty of distance between himself and Wade Wilson, who wore his trademark-and not-to-dresscode-black hoodie well up over his face. Bruce stepped up for his meal, which was oatmeal, a plate of eggs and bacon, coffee, and juice. The lady behind the counter looked over her glasses at him, and then at a list clipped to a clipboard.  
"Name?" she asked.  
"Bruce Banner."  
"Banner, Banner...ah, here. Okay, here you are." The lady handed Bruce a small container with three pills in it. Each was small and a pale yellow colour. Bruce grimaced, but thanked the lady nonetheless. Those pills tasted awful, no matter what he tried to down them with.  
Headmaster Fury had brought Bruce in a few months ago, after the Other Guy had been found laying waste to a car junkyard. It had taken significant force to knock him out, and when he came to, Bruce found himself in the hospital strapped to a bed. Fury asked him if he knew how, or why, he was attacking the yard. Bruce couldn't quite remember, but was shocked to learn he had leveled a building and destroyed 17 heavily armoured vehicles that had tried to take him down. After Fury had spoken with the doctors and the police, they agreed to release him, but only to Fury's custody. Bruce was barely sixteen, had no family, and didn't want to be alone with only the Other Guy for company, and no way to control him. Fury brought him to the Academy of Excellence, and told him he would be taught to control the Other Guy, and also have the chance to enhance his brilliant mind through study with many of the world's leading scientists. However, until the "Hulk" could be controlled, Bruce was on these foul yellow pills, three times a day. Bruce hated them, but was glad he knew he was not a danger to others, and he could focus on his studies.  
Bruce stood near the food line, still scanning the tables to find an empty spot where he could be alone with his book. He was staring around, until he heard his name.  
"Hey, Banner, over here!"  
Bruce looked up with a start. It was Tony Stark.  
Tony fucking Stark was waving at him. Bruce pointed to himself, and Tony nodded and waved again. Bruce walked over slowly. Tony was surrounded by his usual crew, Steve, Natasha, Thor, Peter, and Matt.  
"Y...yes?" he asked. Tony flashed him a brilliant white smile, his tie undone and shirt untucked, blazer open. His arc reactor glowed faintly through the crisp white of his shirt. Tony wore his uniform "casually", something Bruce could never imagine doing, but it looked flawless on the billionaire son of Stark Industries.  
"I want to know how you beat me on that science test!" said Tony, suddenly quite threatening. Bruce jumped and gripped his tray. Tony began laughing at the younger boy. Steve Rogers raised an eyebrow.  
"Calm down I'm not going to take your lunch money, kid," Tony snickered. "But seriously...how? You weren't sitting anywhere near enough me to cheat."  
"I didn't cheat," said Bruce simply. "What question did you get wrong?"  
"E three."  
"Oh," Bruce thought for a minute. "Did you carry out the whole formula data entry?"  
"Yes, of course."  
"What about basing out the chemical Dioxotrinite with the alkaline?"  
"Obviously."  
"After the division of the subparticles, did you carry the one?"  
There was a long pause. Tony blinked as he wracked his brain. A look of horror spread over his face, followed by a subtle "god dammit." Steve and the others began laughing hysterically.  
"Nice one, Stark!" giggled Peter. "Even Thor remembered to do that."  
"Indeed!" cried the demi-god with tears in his eyes, a huge grin plastered on his face. "And I was heady with mead!"  
The laughter was settling, and Bruce was getting a bit uncomfortable. He coughed slightly.  
"Well, if that's all," he said, and made his move to walk away.  
"No, wait, Bruce," said Steve. He beckoned to one of two empty seats near them. "Sit with us."  
Bruce blinked. "Are...are you sure?" Steve nodded as Tony fumed next to him.  
"Of course, sit, before your food gets cold."  
Bruce sat at the empty seat next to Matt and across from Steve and Tony. He downed his foul-tasting pills quickly with his juice, before anyone could notice. Clint ran up, panting, and hurled his tray onto the table. He looked at Bruce and grinned enthusiastically as he plopped down next to Natasha.  
"You're joining us, Banner?" he asked excitedly as he began wolfing down his toast.  
"Apparently," said Bruce, trying not to look at how even with his mouth full, Clint looked perfect.  
"So tell me," said Steve, as he swirled his empty coffee cup, "how are you liking the school so far? Are you settling in okay?"  
Bruce played with his fork, breaking the yolk on his egg and letting it pool on the plate. Funnily enough, he wasn't that hungry.  
"Oh yes, thank you," he said, sipping his juice. It tasted too sweet but was better than the aftertaste of the pills. "I'm learning so much and Headmaster Fury has me working with some top engineers and scientists...I may even get my own fusion lab in the new year."  
"And how about friends?" asked Steve. Bruce froze.  
"Friends?"  
"You always eat alone, I never see you talk much to anyone. Anyone giving you trouble?" Steve shot an automatic look at Wade, who was scarfing down his breakfast like a wild animal. Bruce shook his head.  
"Oh, no, really, I'm fine. I just...prefer solitude sometimes."  
"That must be hard to get with Clint for a room mate," quipped Natasha as she began clearing her tray. "Don't you know? The Hawk is always watching."  
"Well I've seen the 'Hawk' after he drank a whole bottle of contraband liquor and cried for his mommy all night, so I'm not worried about it," Bruce answered quickly, remembering the night when Clint had to hover over the toilet for 12 hours straight. Clint's mouth fell open and some half-eaten egg fell out, which caused even more laughter. The bell tolled for the first class loudly overhead.  
"Okay, time for class," said Steve matter-of-factly, adjusting his perfectly folded tie and smoothing his perfectly neat hair. He attempted to do the same for Tony, who merely huffed and stalked away, still seething over his science mistake. Thor walked off with Peter, who was arm in arm with Matt as usual, and Natasha and Clint headed for the dirty dish booth with their trays. There was a noisy flurry as students ran-and some flew-to get to class. Steve looked down at Bruce.  
"You barely ate anything," he said. Bruce looked down at his own tray.  
"Oh," he said. He quickly drank his coffee and shoved a few spoonfuls of oatmeal in his mouth for good measure, but they didn't taste of much to him. "I guess I got distracted...but I'd better get to class."  
"Well, we'll see you at lunch then," said Steve.  
"Y...you will?" stammered Bruce.  
"Yes," Steve said smiling. "Anyone who can best Tony and outwatch the Hawk is always welcome to sit with us." He winked and walked off.  
Bruce was alone in the cafeteria. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to smile.

Bruce was done smiling by the end of his first class.  
A headache had formed behind his eyes, making the words on the page twist and turn into undecipherable images. Even during Advanced Fusion Theory, his favourite class, he couldn't seem to stay focused. The tickle in his throat had become more irritating. His head became more painful. But he found himself talking to Tony. Actually talking to him. Tony seemed to have gotten over his fateful error and was just as interested in all the same science things as Bruce. Bruce even found he laughed. Out loud. Twice. But he still couldn't seem to shake the strange headache and throat irritation.  
_It was probably Clint and the damn window_, he thought as he sulked through physical training. He watched as Natasha and Clint sparred. Clint was incredibly fast but somehow Natasha was faster. She soon had him pinned. She shot Bruce a look as he sat on a bench, small and undefined.  
_THIS IS HOW IT IS DONE._, she seemed to say with her intense stare. Bruce smiled faintly and sipped from his water bottle, whilst watching the rest of his chiseled classmates leap and fly and twist like the superhuman acrobats they were. Another cough rattled Bruce. This one seemed wetter and more uncomfortable than the rest.  
_Definitely the damn window. I'm going to nail it shut._

The last class before lunch was political theory. This class bored Bruce the most. He hated how petty it all seemed, and sat near the back. He took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. His throat was full on sore by now, but it was not unbearable. Maybe he didn't get enough food at breakfast. Who knew? But he certainly felt rotten. Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder that was so strong he almost yelped in pain. He turned around. Thor was leaning over his desk.  
"Are you feeling well, small bespectacled one?!" he whispered. Even his whisper was fairly loud and Bruce had to shush him as others turned and looked on, including Steve and Clint. Bruce smiled sheepishly and turned back to Thor.  
"Yes, thank you," he replied. Thor smiled.  
"Good, I would not desire to see a friend in much distress!"  
"Is there something you and Thor would like to share, Mr Banner?" barked the teacher.  
"No sir, sorry sir!" Bruce held up his hands. The teacher turned back to the board, and Bruce breathed a sigh of relief. His head hurt more and his chest was tight.  
He could not help but smile again, though. Thor had called him a friend.

At lunch, Bruce gathered his sandwich, soup, and pills. He looked around and saw Steve waving at him again. He sat down, trying to look normal, but he felt like he had been hit by a truck.  
"This guy!" Tony practically squealed, gesturing to him. "This guy knows practically everything about every science thing...ever! Forget it, I'm not going to study anymore, I'm just going to cheat off this sonovabitch!"  
"You will do no such thing," said Steve, sipping his soup properly. "Bruce, I apologize. I assure you he will be forced to do his own work."  
"That's a relief," Bruce managed a smile. "I'd hate to carry the burden of making Tony Stark a success on my shoulders."  
Steve laughed, and so did Tony. Bruce nibbled his sandwich but again, he wasn't very hungry at all. Clint, Thor, Natasha, Peter, and Matt joined them, and they all settled into their chitter-chatter routines. Bruce looked on like a scientist studying a new species. The way these friends interacted, with such ease, astounded him. Natasha Romanova was quiet but her wit was razor sharp. When she did speak it was with purpose and intensity but not without humour. Thor was big, loud, handsome (almost all of the girls, and even some of the boys, had a crush on him) and with no seemingly no inhibitions. Peter Parker was bright, funny, and amicable, and utterly devoted to his boyfriend, Matthew Murdock. Matt was a puzzle Bruce hadn't really figured out yet. Maybe it was the red-lensed sunglasses he always wore. He usually read whilst eating, his hand easily picking up the braille with his delicate fingers. He did not say much but it was obvious he was taking everything in, all the time. Anthony Stark was, well...Anthony Stark. Brilliant and brash, the dark haired, tanned, ripped young man was obviously the product of money. He didn't care what anyone thought and did what he liked. He even had his own wing added on to the school hooked up to his AI JARVIS. He didn't have a room mate but rumour had it Steve spent plenty of time in his suite. Steve Rogers, of course, was the perfect counter-lever to Tony's fiery personality. He was cool and level-headed and kind, but also serious. The perfect all-American 19 year old. Destined for greatness.  
Then there was Clint Barton. Seventeen years old, tall, muscular but not broad like Steve, blue eyes and short dirty blond hair that did whatever it wanted. Clint didn't try to fight his messy locks like Bruce did. Clint did not do anything like Bruce did.  
Bruce had not paid much attention to his room mate at first, but soon grew to find him fascinating. He could move seemingly silently when he wanted to, and seemed uninterested in his studies, although he got decent grades. He was aloof and relaxed, something Bruce could never be. Until he had a weapon. Then, Clint was a silent, impossibly fast instrument of death. That was when he was intense, focused, and set to fulfil his task. That was Clint. One way or the other. No middle ground. That was what Bruce liked about him, or maybe was jealous of. How he could control his incredible abilities. How, when the battle was over, he could let it go. Bruce couldn't. He couldn't escape what the Other Guy would do. The dorm supervisor asked if it was okay to tell Clint about Bruce's...condition. Bruce agreed, but only the bare details. He had a powerful ability but it was under control (Clint did not know it was through medication). He was here to study science. He posed no threat. Clint had merely shrugged and told Bruce that he didn't like to be woken up too early. Bruce had no intention of ever waking him, he wasn't a human alarm clock. But soon he found himself drawn to the way Clint always overslept, looking so peaceful, and started waking him on time just to see the adorable way he threw himself together in a calm-sort of chaos. Clint thrived on manic energy. It was obvious in the way he was always late and disheveled but so at peace with it. He shrugged when chided about it. Only on a mission was he serious.  
It was obvious, even now at the lunch table, that Bruce was so in love with Clint. He stole glances of him at every opportunity, taking in how he laughed, ate, and leant back in his chair, so carefree. But how, Bruce thought, could he ever be with me? These people are letting me sit with them, but none of them know. My secret is more than theirs...they have the power to kill and destroy but they can choose not to. I don't have that choice. I will never have that choice.  
With that thought, Bruce suddenly let out a huge sneeze. Everyone turned and looked. Clint stared over the glass of water he was drinking, part way to his lips. His eyebrows made a very slight turn inward.  
"Hehe...excuse me," said Bruce again. He stepped away from the table to blow his nose, and looked out of the window into the snow covered courtyard.  
"Are you alright?" asked Steve, who appeared at his elbow. Bruce paused for a moment.  
"Yes," he finally said, his head pounding from the sneeze, building up with the urge to sneeze again.  
"You still haven't eaten much...are you sure you're okay?" Steve bent to look in Bruce's eyes. They were deep green and worried looking, and ever so slightly glazed, but it may have been a trick of the winter light through his glasses.  
"Oh yes, sorry. I'm just not used to eating in front of people...and I'm not all that hungry I guess," Bruce shrugged. Steve decided not to push it.  
"Alright..." he said slowly, vowing silently to make sure he ate at dinner. The bell chimed for the afternoon classes. Bruce made a move to collect his tray, but Steve could see he looked tired. He put a hand on his shoulder stopping him, and grabbed the tray and started heading for the garbage.  
"...th...thanks," said Bruce, astonished.  
"Hey, what are friends for?" Steve called over his shoulder.  
Bruce felt his stomach flip over. He couldn't tell his it was because he was feeling so sick, or if it was because he was called a friend for the second time today, and by Steve Rogers no less. He tried to shake off the feeling as he gathered his books and headed for his next class, headache growing more with each step.  
Steve stood in a line behind some other students dropping their uneaten food off in the bin. His mind was elsewhere when he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Matt.  
"Oh, hi, Matt," he said.  
"I heard you talking to Bruce," said Matt quietly, twisting the end of his white cane with delicate, pale fingers.  
"Yeah, so?" Steve shrugged. Matt was never one to care about who anyone did or did not talk to.  
"You asked him if he was okay. He lied," Matt ran a hand through his thick, reddish brown hair and down his neck and shoulder, like he was easing out tension. He sounded genuinely concerned.  
"He lied?" asked Steve.  
"I heard his heart. His heart rate has been elevated this whole time, but it was definitely out of whack when you were asking him if he was alright. I don't know what's up with him, but someone had better keep an eye on him," Matt pushed his sunglasses further up his nose. "Not me, obviously."  
Steve smiled a bit, but was concerned. "Well, thanks for letting me know, Matt. I think he is just nervous around people. But you're right, I'll watch him."  
Matt nodded and walked away, meeting up with Peter in the doorframe to the hallway. Peter took his arm and they walked off together. Steve followed the line and threw out the barely eaten sandwich and scraped the full soup bowl. He placed the dishes and cutlery in the dirty dish bin, and threw away the crumpled napkins Bruce had been wiping his nose with.  
They landed gently at the bottom of the bin, a small plastic cup with three little yellow pills hidden in their folds.

Bruce thought he had been feeling bad before. He was wrong.  
Bruce felt terrible. More than terrible. He felt like death.  
His head pounded so much he could barely think straight. He was shivering like crazy and every inch of his body hurt. His throat felt like it was lined with blunt razors and his chest was caught in a vice grip. He sat at his desk near the window, and tried to shrink into himself. He watched through bleary eyes as the rest of the students filed in. Clint was last, of course.  
Professor Coulsen, instructor of Special Missions, SHIELD agent, and all around deadpan brilliant, stood at the front, filling the students in on new developments in threats on Earth from the latest crazy villain. Bruce could barely hear over the blood pounding in his ears. The snow landed silently outside the window, and the cold made Bruce feel even more queasy.  
Steve sat in the desk two seats away from Bruce, and looked at him out of the corner of his eye. He was looking clammy and he was visibly quaking. His eyes were unable to focus. His cheeks were flushed. Steve knew something was seriously wrong, and stood up suddenly. Everyone turned and looked at him.  
"Agent Rogers, is there a reason to disrupt the briefing," asked Coulsen. Not rudely, but genuinely interested.  
"It's Banner, sir. I think there is something wrong with him."  
Suddenly Bruce felt many pairs of eyes on him. Thor, Natasha, Tony, Peter, everyone in class. Coulsen and Steve were crouched at his desk, staring at him intently.  
"n...no...'m fine..." he croaked, but it was hard to talk. Steve pressed a hand to Bruce's sweaty forehead and recoiled at the heat.  
"He's burning up," he said. Coulsen pressed a hand to his ear and contacted the infirmary. "Prepare for patient intake," he said.  
"...m...m'okay, I p...romise!" Bruce stammered.  
"Lying," said Matt from across the room. But it was unnecessary. At that moment, Bruce gave a great heave and vomited what little was in his stomach onto the floor. It splashed onto Steve's shoes. Bruce lay his head on the edge of the desk, feeling the cool top on his burning head. But he still felt cold. He opened his eyes and looked at his hands, shaking uncontrollably in his lap.  
The fingers were turning green.  
His eyes widened and he felt a new sort of pain. The familiar, aching pain the deep of his stomach. He felt more bile rise in his throat.  
"...no.." he whispered.  
"Banner, you're going to the infirmary," he heard Coulsen declare. Bruce lifted his head to protest, his eyes wide with panic and his voice hoarse.  
"No, no please! PLEASE, SIR!" he pleaded. Agent Coulsen knew about the Hulk. He needed to be taken somewhere where he couldn't hurt anyone. Somewhere he could be alone. But he couldn't say that. He tried to send a message with just his mind, but telepathy was not one of the skills that came with being an unstoppable behemoth. Bruce felt the horrible burning pain in his stomach grow stronger, and the green was rising up his hands and arms, which were still clasped firmly in his lap. Bruce closed his eyes and felt hot tears rolling down them as he debated whether or not to make a run for it.  
"I'll escort him, sir."  
Bruce's eyes flew open, and through the blood pounding in his head and the green throbbing obscurring his vision, he saw Clint. Clint was next to Steve, and he was in serious, mission mode. He looked at Bruce with steely eyes, a hand on Steve's back as he leant over his desk.  
"Clint, Clint NO!" Bruce was openly sobbing now. His hands and arms were sweating and getting bigger, his legs beginning to stretch against his pants. Bruce tried to fight it, but it was impossible. Clint reached out a hand, nearing Bruce's face, which was beginning to show thick veins. Bruce clenched his teeth in pain.  
"Bruce," said Clint "I won't let anything happen to you, just let me-"  
"GET AWAY!" screamed Bruce. His massive hands flipped his heavy desk away, hitting Clint square in the head. Clint slumped to the floor, unconcious, and everyone stared at Bruce. Bruce was standing, growing bigger and taller. He looked at his hands. They were full on Hulk-hands now. Thor lifted his hand for Mjolnir to race to him from wherever it was, Tony and the others in class braced themselves for a fight, Natasha leaned down to protect Clint, her eyes wider that anyone had ever seen.  
"...it's...the Hulk!" Peter gulped. Bruce still fought as he felt his bones break and grow, causing terrible pain, his skin stretch and harden. The ceiling lowered in on him as he grew. His voice was no longer his voice, it was a monster's scream. The last thing he saw before the Hulk took over was Clint, laying on the floor, blood dripping from his head. The last thing he heard was a deafening roar coming from his own body. Then it was black.

Far off voices.  
The smell of sterile equipment and hand sanitizer.  
Voices getting closer.  
Pain. Lots and lots of pain.  
Voices on the other side of glass. One of them Fury's for sure.  
Beeping monitors.  
Tube in throat? Swallow. Yep. Tube in throat.  
Can't move? Try to move.  
Oh. Restraints.

Bruce opened his eyes slowly. The light was dim but still too much. His head felt like someone had sliced it open with a chainsaw and closed it back up with rusty nails. His breath was ragged and his lungs filled with fluid that attempted to escape with each cough. He was cold. So very, very cold. In one of his arms was an IV, pumping in a liquified version of his "anti-Hulk" pills. Bruce could taste the bitter metallic flavour in the back of his throat.  
Bruce was in a room in the infirmary, but it wasn't exactly comforting. He recognized the unbreakable plexiglass that separated him from the hall, and the lack of "decor". Only the absolute necessaries were there, including a variety of machines that he was hooked up to, all of which were bolted to the wall. Or floor. Bruce couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh. As if those bolts would even work if the Other Guy showed up. Again.  
"Sir," came the voice of a woman, "he's awake."  
"Open the door."  
With a soft pssh, the hydraulic door opened. Headmaster Fury, Vice Maria Hill, Agent Coulsen, Natasha Romanova and Steve Rogers walked in. Bruce didn't even try to sit up. Fury stood at the end of his bed, hands behind his back. They all wore hospital masks.  
"So," Fury said, slowly, "the cat's out of the bag."  
"Well..." Bruce wheezed. He thought of something interesting to say but he couldn't. "Fuck."  
There was silence. Steve shifted uncomfortably. Bruce let his eyes adjust and looked around more. He was laying on an uncomfortable gurney with just a thin pair of infirmary pajamas over him. Ice was packed along his sides.  
"What does a guy have to do around here to get a blanket around here?" he asked.  
"Not until your fever comes down," said Natasha. Her voice was flat.  
"Oh. How high?"  
Steve checked a screen that was linked up to the device clipped to Bruce's finger. "102. 102.5 actually." Bruce noticed he was sporting a wicked black eye.  
"Steve...Steve did...I do that?" Bruce could only gesture with his head as both his arms were strapped down. His voice cracked.  
"No. You didn't," interrupted Maria. "The Hulk did."  
"It's the same thing goddammit!" cried Bruce. "What he does I do. What happened!?"  
Fury brought his hands around and pressed his fingertips together. "We figured out why you had an...episode. Rogers realized he had chucked your medication accidentally. That, combined with your intense influenza allowed the Hulk to take over. You'll be proud to know that it took twelve of the worlds finest superheroes, two tanks, and the hammer of Mjolnir to bring you down. Thank god the Hulk was sick or he's still be on the rampage."  
Bruce grimaced, and began to cough violently. It wouldn't stop until soon he was wretching. Steve helped him sit up and got him a trashcan to be sick in, but there was nothing, so Bruce just dry heaved. He shivered, and the number for his temperature descended a degree.  
Maria turned to Natasha. "Agent Romanova, have the attendants bring him a blanket."  
"Ma'am."  
Maria then turned to Fury. "Sir, I don't think it is time for jokes. He needs to rest. Is he still a risk?"  
Fury thought long and hard. Bruce lay back on the bed, crying bitterly. "No. He has plenty of gammanox-serum in him now. He's stable. Agent Coulsen, have this man moved to the regular wing to recover." Coulsen nodded as Fury left, and walked up so he could look down at Bruce properly. He was not exactly soft and cuddly, but he placed a hand on Bruce's aching shoulder.  
"Everyone thought the Hulk was a myth. And now they know," Coulsen was not going to sugar coat it. "You're under control. You just need to fight this flu for now. Rogers, see that this patient is escorted to the regular wing, I'll have the nurses here shortly"  
He turned and left as Natasha appeared with a blanket. She threw it to Steve before dashing off somewhere, completely unreadable. Steve pulled away a few of the ice bags and lay the blanket over Bruce, who was nearly unconcious again. He was so weak and exhausted, he barely heard the nurses come in and begin to ready his gurney for transport. Their voices were faint as the requested Steve leave. Steve agreed, but not before leaning down and whispering in Bruce's ear.  
"Don't worry," came his soft voice. "Clint's okay."  
Bruce breathed deeply, and managed not to cough, before he drifted away again.

When Bruce woke for the second time, he was only slightly more comfortable. His bed was soft, with thick pillows, and clean, heavy sheets and blankets were laying on him. The room was in the regular infirmary, lit with soft lamps instead of harsh flourescence. He was still restrained, but only by one arm, the one with all of the needles and tubes in it. With the other, Bruce checked his own forehead with his frozen hand. It was still insanely hot. Bruce groaned and sunk down under the blankets. His throat was dry and sore and he couldn't breath through his nose at all. He lay their, shivering, for some time, until he heard the door open.  
For some reason, something Bruce couldn't put a finger on, he felt panicked. They were coming to take him away again. He heard voices. They had found a way to destroy the Hulk. The police and the CIA and god knows who else. He leapt out of bed, his right arm still strapped by the wrist to the metal bed frame turned awkwardly. He reached for something, anything, to defend himself. He grabbed a pen from the chart sitting on the bedside table and held it like a dagger, his eyes glazed and wide, sweat pouring down him in rivers.  
"HAVE YOU COME FOR ME!?" he screamed. He swished his pen-weapon through the air, unable to focus on the blobs of grey in the room. "YOU WANT SOME OF THE HULK? HE'LL KILL YOU, YOU BASTARDS!"  
"Be still, tiny furious human!"  
It was Thor.  
Bruce blinked several times. The grey blobs came slowly into detail, as they inched towards Bruce, hands up in surrender.  
"YOU KEEP AWAY FROM ME!"  
"No one is going to hurt you, Bruce, it's us..." came Steve's soothing voice. Tony and Peter-shaped blobs where there too. Bruce thought saw a large bouquet under Peter's arm. Nothing made sense. Why would they be trying to kidnap him...with flowers? Bruce dropped the pen and clutched his head as his knees buckled. Thor scooped him up like a ragdoll and placed him back onto his bed while Steve pressed buttons to administer more drugs. Bruce felt soothing relief come down the line. His head became more clear and so did his vision.  
Thor, Tony, Steve, and Peter stood by his bed, wearing either concerned expressions, or smiles, or both. Peter did indeed have a large bouquet of winter lilies under his arm, which he held up with a sheepish grin.  
"We hope you feel better soon..." he said quietly. Bruce could only nod. He looked at each face, finally resting on Steve's, and his deep purple bruise on his eye.  
"Steve, I am so sorry, I would never, I could have-" but Steve interrupted by raising his hand.  
"Bruce, it's alright. We understand."  
There was a long pause. Bruce let the tears slide out unchecked.  
"How? How can you understand? I could kill someone and never know. I don't want to hurt anyone. And I hurt you. I hurt Clint!" Bruce started to openly sob. Tony turned to Thor and Peter, who had finished placing the lilies in a vase.  
"Guys, come on," he said, before turning back to Bruce, wearing a perfectly normal grin. "He, buddy, get well soon, or I'll sue you for ruining my science career!" Even Bruce managed half a laugh through his tears.  
"Bye, Bruce!"  
"Be well!"  
Bruce lifted a hand weakly to wave goodbye. It was just him and Steve now.  
"Steve, I-"  
"Bruce," Steve began again. He was going to set Bruce's mind right, once and for all. "When I was eighteen I was injected with a serum that made me able to do things unheard of by man kind. I could stop Nazi squadrons single handedly and was the world's most dangerous weapon. I thought it was what I wanted. I had such power."  
"I know all about you, Steve," wheezed Bruce. "You're Captain America!"  
"Yes. I am. And in my time as the world's greatest super soldier, I have never been more lonely. I was expected to be just that. A soldier. Expected to kill men...boys, no older than you, I had never met. I thought I wanted it, but I saw their faces in my dreams every night. I still do. And then I woke up after being under the ice, surrounded by things I couldn't understand. Everyone I loved was gone. And I didn't know if anyone could ever be close to me again. So if you feel lonely," Steve paused, "please know we have all felt like that. Like we're different."  
Bruce scoffed. "No one knows-"  
"I know," Steve was more firm now. "I've aged a year, and the last birthday I remembered was in 1943. The only thing keeping Tony alive is a dangerous arc reactor lodged in his chest. Thor is exiled from an alien planet of Gods, and we don't even know where Clint and Natasha came from, save for the fact that is was possibly Eastern Europe and neither of them will talk about it. We all have shit going on,"-Bruce gaped at Steve Rogers swearing-"we've all felt lonely, but we help each other, and we're going to help you whether you like it or not!"  
"But I'm not able to control the H...the Other Guy!" Bruce was sweating heavily again. He coughed violently and leaned up in bed. "I don't want to hurt anyone!"  
Steve smiled and pushed him back down onto the pillows. "That's why you're here. To learn how to control it. We're all here to learn. Now, you'd better calm down or I won't let in your last visitors of the day."  
Bruce blinked as Steve gestured to the door. In came Natasha, pushing Clint in a wheelchair, who, other than a large gash on his head that had been stitched shut, seemed in good spirits. He tried to stand up, but wobbled, and Natasha pushed him down. She wheeled him up next to the bed, and leaned in towards Bruce. She whispered in his ear.  
"This is my best friend. He and I have been through more together than you could imagine. You caught us off guard this time, Banner, but I know I can take you down next time if I have to. If you hurt this man again, I will kill you, and the Hulk. I swear it."  
Her eyes bore into Bruce's in a way that was somehow more terrifying than a nuclear blast. Bruce nodded, thinking about what Steve had said. About her lonliness. He looked back into her cold grey eyes and despite his ragged breathing and aching throat, he replied steadily, "If I ever hurt this man again, I want you to."  
Natasha nodded, and after a moment her gaze softened. They were in agreement, then. She gave Bruce a kiss on the cheek, which made him flush even harder. She patted Clint on the shoulder.  
"Not too long, okay?" she said. Clint grinned, and she and Steve left, with a dignified salute.

For a long time Clint and Bruce said nothing. After what seemed like an eternity, Clint stretched his arms behind his head, casually.  
"Guess I should have closed the window, huh?"  
Bruce tried to be angry, but he was too tired, and too relieved to see Clint was okay.  
"I blame you for this flu," he said, his voice muffled beneath his blanket.  
"You gave me a solid concussion and twenty stitches, we're even."  
"I nearly killed you!"  
"It would take more than that."  
"I'm the Hulk! I can level entire buildings in one swipe!"  
"I stand by my statement."  
Bruce started to sit up again to protest. Clint lifted himself, cautiously, from the chair to the bed side. Bruce saw him wobble more than he meant to. Clint put a hand on Bruce's right arm, the one lashed to the bed rail, and became very serious. Hawkeye serious.  
"You're boiling. Hulk-thing aside, you are seriously ill. Next time, tell us when you're sick. Tell me." Clint pressed the button to call the nurse. As he did, he leaned his face over Bruce's. Their noses touched, Bruce shuddered, and Clint smiled.  
"You're adorable, Banner," was all he said, before the nurse arrived to escort him out and issue more medication through Bruce's IV. Clint held his hand for as long as he could before he was wheeled away.  
Bruce lay alone in his room, feeling tired and small. He pulled his blanket up higher, felt sleep creeping over his eyes, and medication fogging his senses. He glanced over at the winter lilies Peter had brought for him and managed to make out the writing on the card that rested on the table, scrawled with the writing of his classmates and instructors. No...his friends.  
_Bruce, get well soon. We're here for you._  
_-Steve, Tony, THOR, Peter, Matt, Natasha, Coulsen, Clint_  
He smiled to himself.  
He wasn't alone.  
Not anymore.

Epilogue

It took Bruce a good two weeks before he was well enough to return to his classes. Clint visited him almost every day, as did the others. Tony tried to sneak in his homework for Bruce to do when dropping off assignments, but Steve caught him. On multiple occasions.  
During that time, everyone had learned that meek and mild genius Bruce Banner was, in fact, the infamous Hulk. But now he was sitting at the "Avengers" table, so no one seemed to mind. No one was scared of or reviled him, in fact, he seemed to have more friends than he could remember in a long time. He laughed more, smiled easier, and began researching techniques for mastering the Hulk in a non-medicinal fashion. Still, he quadruple checked every day to make sure his pills were correct and on schedule.  
One night, Clint was getting ready for bed, and Bruce saw the scar. Near his hairline, three inches long, surprisingly fine and hard to see unless you were looking for it. He still hated himself for hurting him. Clint caught him looking, and smiled gently. He tugged the window closed, pulled off his shirt, and crawled into bed with Bruce. Bruce gasped.  
"Won't you be too hot?" he asked  
"No," said Clint, softly, breathing into Bruce's neck. "Tomorrow, we're nailing the window shut."  
Bruce smiled in the dark, and embraced his Hawkeye.


End file.
